


Of Comfort & Joy

by quartetship



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Background Relationships, First Meetings, Fluff, Holiday Fic Exchange, Holidays, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 12:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3381545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Loud laughter. The ringing of bells as the front door opened again and again to welcome ever more guests into the already crowded house. The sound of Connie and Sasha arguing over whose idea their matching sweaters were…]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Comfort & Joy

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr for the JM Secret Santa Exchange 2014. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> \--

Loud laughter. The ringing of bells as the front door opened again and again to welcome ever more guests into the already crowded house. The sound of Connie and Sasha arguing over whose idea their matching sweaters were...  
  
These were the sounds of Armin's annual Christmas party, an event that got bigger, louder and more out of hand every year, much to the dismay of Armin himself. It was where nearly everyone Armin had ever met mixed and mingled under one roof for a night in the name of holiday festivity. And it was just as loud from the kitchen, where Marco had holed up to hide his anxiety, still unable to escape the near deafening frivolity a few rooms away.   
  
It wasn't his initial intention to spend the entire evening there. He'd actually been pretty glad to receive the invite from his friendly neighbor; since his recent breakup, Marco hadn't gotten out much, and the Christmas party seemed like a great place to start. He didn't even have to leave his building. But he always forgot just how bustling these get-togethers were. He and the host had  _that much_  in common.   
  
"Hey, Marco!" Armin's face was cheerful, but his eyes held a glint of panic, and Marco struggled to hide his amusement. "Everything alright? Haven't seen much of you tonight."  
  
Marco nodded, unsure of exactly how to answer without outright lying. He didn't want to tell him he was  _hiding_  in the kitchen. He didn't want to admit that he was  _purposely_  avoiding the crowd, to keep from having to speak to, hear or even look at his ex boyfriend, Bertholdt. And he  _definitely_  didn't want to own up to the fact that Armin inviting his ex's new boyfriend without so much as  _mentioning_  it as a warning to Marco beforehand had left a bad taste in his mouth, that he was downing piles of chips and pints of punch to try and forget.   
  
"Bertholdt was asking about you," Armin continued, blissfully unaware of Marco's internal grumbling. "I told him you were around."  
  
"Thanks," Marco replied, as politely as he could muster, and Armin flashed him a tired smile before ducking back out of the room to return to the party. Marco sighed and slumped against the counter, staring down into his empty punch glass.   
  
It wasn't Armin's fault. It wasn't Bertholdt's fault, or even his new boyfriend, Reiner's. It was  _Marco's_  problem, Marco's anxiety that made an otherwise enjoyable evening seem like low grade torture. No one was missing out on the fun except him, and in a strange way, he was glad for that. Maybe he deserved to be alone in his sulking. He grabbed another handful of chips and hopped backward, up onto the counter beside the punch bowl to settle for the evening.   
  
From the living room, he could hear Bert's distinct laugh, punctuated by Reiner's cackling and the good-natured teasing of friends. Bert sounded happy, and Marco smiled at the thought. He  _wanted_  that for Bertholdt, but he wanted it for himself too. And mostly, he didn't want to have to watch his ex cuddle up to someone under mistletoe while he himself sat alone in a room full of couples. But even in his hideaway spot in the kitchen, he could still hear it. He began to wonder if there was a polite way to leave early.  
  
"You too, huh?"  
  
Marco looked up from his handful of chips to see someone standing in the entryway to the kitchen, smirking in his direction. The slender blond man was well dressed, sharply groomed, brought with him the smell of expensive cologne - but looked as uncomfortable there as Marco felt. He sauntered into the kitchen and dropped backward onto his elbows, propped on the counter across from the one Marco was perched on.   
  
"I don't know how I get suckered into coming to these things every year," he sighed. "I hate parties."  
  
"I usually don't," Marco shrugged. "Just... this one is a little awkward."  
  
"Sucks," the other man said. "So you just gonna guard the punch bowl all night?"   
  
"Probably."  
  
The other man laughed, and then stood upright to hold his hand out for Marco to shake. "Jean, by the way."  
  
"Marco."  
  
Jean had already looked familiar, a work friend of Armin's or maybe a townie, Marco couldn't be sure. But his name struck a comfortable chord for Marco, and he relaxed just a little, though his fingers still tapped tensely at the rim of his empty punch glass.   
  
"So why're you posted up in the kitchen?" Jean asked. Marco stared back at him for a moment. He wasn't used to people who asked such direct questions, but maybe that's why he was compelled to answer him honestly.  
  
"My ex is here. With their new boyfriend."  
  
Jean winced. "Shit, dude - I'm sorry."  
  
Marco shrugged. "It's ok. I mean, it's no one's fault, and I'm not--"  
  
"She givin' you problems, or something?"  
  
"Oh, uh..." Marco swallowed and fixed his eyes nervously on his fingers. "It's a guy."  
  
"Oh," Jean said, but without a trace of the distaste Marco had expected. Not even a tone of surprise. Only an amendment to his question;  _"He_  give you any shit, or..?"  
  
"No," Marco replied honestly. "It's really  _my_  problem. Bert's a nice guy - I don't wish him any ill. And I don't really know his new boyfriend, but Reiner seems like a good guy, too. And they're obviously happy, which is cool. I just..."  
  
"Wish it was you?" Jean offered. Marco gave a noncommittal wave.  
  
"Eh, not exactly. I mean, I don't really want to be  _with_   _Bert_. I just don't wanna be the guy who's alone at the party full of kissing couples." He glanced back at Jean and realized just how much he'd been rambling, to someone he barely knew. An embarrassed blush rose to his cheeks, and he stammered an apology. "Sorry, I... didn't mean to dump all that on you. I'm sure you didn't come to the party to hear me whine about my problems."  
  
Jean laughed, and reached forward to clap Marco on the shoulder. "Hey, honestly? Beats what's goin' on in there, for me. I know how ya feel, though - watching everybody else make out. But you're not the only guy alone at the party, so don't feel too lame."  
  
"Yeah, but I am the only one stress-eating chips and guzzling punch to avoid human interaction," Marco grumbled, and Jean laughed so loudly it actually drowned out the background buzz of the party for a moment. Marco's chest tightened in the warmest way possible, though he couldn't be sure if it was the pleasantry of forgetting the party momentarily, or of making Jean laugh until his face flushed. Both were pretty nice.  
  
"Maybe," Jean conceded, finally. "But if you want, I can stay here and cram chips with you, and we can make fun of all the drunk assholes in the other room, together."  
  
"Or make bets on how long it'll be before Armin has a full scale meltdown over people jumping up onto his couches?"  
  
Jean snorted with laughter, and this time Marco laughed along. "Poor guy," Jean sighed, wiping his eyes as he caught his breath. "I don't know why he even throws these parties. Always takes him like two weeks to recover afterward."  
  
"I know," Marco nodded. "So, uh - you've been to Armin's parties before? I've never seen you here before."  
  
"Usually keep to myself," Jean shrugged. "I don't know if I've seen you around before or not, but I've been here the last two years. Was with my ex last year, so I was kinda wrapped up in him."  
  
 _"Him?"_  Marco asked it before he could stop himself, and then bit his lip anxiously. Jean didn't seem fazed, though. He casually nodded and propped backward onto his elbows again.  
  
"Yup. He's hooking up with the host these days, I think. But I honestly don't keep up."  
  
Marco chewed on his lip for a long moment, and then blurted out, "So you're single now, or..?" As soon as the words left him he dragged a hand through his hair, acutely aware of how far he was pushing his limits with someone he literally knew almost  _nothing_  about. But Jean was relaxed and funny and  _gorgeous,_  and for some reason, Marco had a hard time keeping his mouth shut around him.   
  
"Flyin' totally solo, for the time being," Jean laughed. Then, to Marco's surprise, he drew his eyes down and threw Marco a sheepish little smirk, before asking, "What about you?"  
  
"Yeah," Marco breathed. "Haven't really felt much like dating since my last breakup, so..."  
  
"Can't say I blame you," said Jean. "Meeting decent people is hard as hell - especially in this shit hole town."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Jean grinned again, even more coyly this time, and Marco felt the tightness returning to his chest as Jean spoke.  _"You're_ pretty decent, though."  
  
Just as Marco was gathering his thoughts enough to make an attempt at a response, Armin bustled back into the room, hands full of dirty glasses. Some of the cups looked broken, though  _Armin_  looked more busted up than they did.   
  
"You alright, man?" Jean asked, and Armin nodded insistently,   
  
"Fine, yeah. You guys should really come join the party. You're missing Connie and Sasha's dance off. They're on rematch number three now, I think."  
  
"Sounds thrilling," Jean laughed. "But I think we're good."   
  
Armin stared at him for a moment, and his lips twitched upward in a knowing smile.  _"Oh._  Aright. Well... party's not going anywhere, so if you change your minds, I'll see you then." He scuttled out of the room with a tray of snacks, and Marco stared at Jean in mild disbelief.   
  
"Never seen someone calm Armin down so quick," he remarked. Jean shrugged.   
  
"I've known Ar for a long time." He didn't offer anything further, but Marco could tell there was more to that particular story. He made a mental note to ask Jean about it again another time, only then realizing with a start how presumptuous a thought that was. But Jean seemed keen on keeping conversation going, as well - maybe even beyond their kitchen chat that evening. They talked for hours, through glass after glass of punch and more than a few loud crashes in the noisy room behind them, Jean surprisingly invested the entire time, despite his otherwise casual demeanor.  
  
"So you live around here?" He asked at one point. Marco nodded, pointing upward.   
  
"Upstairs, actually. Seventh floor."  
  
"You're shittin' me! I'm on the sixth! How the hell are we almost neighbors and I've never seen you around?"   
  
Marco shrugged. "Just unlucky, I guess."  
  
Jean nodded and dropped his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. "I'll say. Guess I'm kinda glad I came tonight after all."   
  
Marco felt his blush return, silently chastising himself for getting so easily riled. But Jean was an extremely pleasant sight in his wine-red dress shirt, and every time Marco caught himself staring - or being stared  _at_  - the heat in his face rose a little more. He had convinced himself right away that Jean was probably just bored and carelessly flirtatious, but it didn't make the fact that he was obviously edging toward  _hitting on_  Marco feel any less exhilerating.  
  
At the corner of the kitchen entryway, Marco caught a glimpse of Bert walking by, Reiner's arms wrapped around his waist and chin on Berholdt's shoulder. The sight should have bothered him, but for some reason, he found himself  _smiling._  He turned back to look at Jean, who was smiling, too - but with an edge of apprehension that seemed out of place on his attractive features.   
  
"You, uh... y'wanna get coffee or something sometime?" He spat the question out nervously, and Marco almost laughed at the contrast between the smooth, confident man he'd spent the evening talking to, and the one standing in front of him then, shuffling awkwardly from one side to the other as he crossed his arms. Marco chewed at his lip again, hesitant to answer, if only to watch Jean's adorable squirming for a moment longer.  
  
"You don't have to, obviously," Jean tacked on, voice quieter than before. "I understand if it's still too soon after your breakup, or you don't wanna, or whatever." He scratched anxiously at the back of his neck, still a study in contradiction between his striking, manicured appearance and his nervous muttering. Marco couldn't stop a quiet chuckle bubbling out, but he made sure to grin reassuringly afterward, just so Jean wasn't struck with the wrong idea.   
  
"I'd love that, actually," he said through his smile. He hopped down from his seat atop the counter, just as Jean made to step forward, and they ended up nearly colliding. Marco was the first to laugh for once, and it was Jean's turn to smile and stare.   
  
"I'm glad I came tonight," Marco finally said, not bothering to step away when his hand brushed against the back of Jean's. "And I'm really glad  _you_  came."  
  
"Likewise," Jean grinned. "You're too cute to be stuck in the kitchen eating chips alone."  
  
"I  _wasn't_ alone," Marco reminded him. He slid his palm over Jean's wrist - purposely this time - and tried to keep his breath from hitching too obviously when Jean looped fingers around his. "I hung out with a hot blond all night."  
  
"Sounds like a good party," Jean laughed. Marco nodded.   
  
"Probably the best one I've ever been to."  
  
He stepped forward a littler further into Jean's space, glad for the fact that Jean didn't back away, didn't make a move to do anything other than edge forward as well, until they were only a breath apart. The dull roar of the party behind them faded out as they stared at each other, smiling like children, noses touching. It was sudden, but it was  _perfect,_  and then... it was broken; Reiner stumbled into the kitchen and shouted back over his shoulder.  
  
"You want one or two, babe?" He motioned back and forth - presumably with Bertholdt - until they'd reached some kind of decision about snacks, and then he turned to where Jean and Marco were standing, grinning widely.  
  
"Hey, why're you guys hidin' in  _here?_  Armin's got mistletoe and shit all over the house - you ain't gotta hole up in the kitchen to get some action!" He clapped both of them roughly on the shoulder, then retrieved a tray of snacks and left again, tossing a comment over his shoulder about them missing the whole party if they didn't quit hiding. Jean sighed after him, turning back to Marco with a smirk.   
  
"He's kinda got a point. I mean - we  _should_  probably at least go say hey to a few people. Talk to Armin for a minute or whatever."   
  
Marco twisted his mouth to one side, realizing he really didn't feel the sense of urgent avoidance he had a few hours before. "Yeah. You're right." He looked out through the entryway and saw a flash of someone breezing by who looked like they'd had a few too many drinks, and he laughed under his breath. "I'll go if you go."  
  
"That sounds like a plan." Jean grinned, and they made their way back into the fray of the noisy party, trailing after each other in turns, hands occasionally tangling as they made the rounds. Reiner and Connie teamed up to make sure the two of them got caught under the mistletoe together, once everyone had noticed their unconcealed flirting, and when the room broke out in cheers and catcalls afterward, Marco saw Bert smiling from his place behind Reiner. It was the last time he was aware of anyone else's expression but Jean's, for the rest of the night.  
  
Marco only lived one floor above Jean, but after a long evening of talking and the chaotic mix and mingle of the party, the extra flight of stairs seemed just one floor too far. Especially when Jean's apartment - and Jean  _himself_  - was so inviting. As they settled into a lump on Jean's couch, he teasingly sang a bad rendition of 'Baby It's Cold Outside', until Marco quieted him with kisses that turned into cuddles that turned into the warmest winter evening Marco could ever remember. He woke up the next morning crowded but comfortable, tangled up in a throw blanket and tangled up in Jean, and unfathomably grateful that he'd gone to a Christmas party the night before. 


End file.
